


Succubus

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Archaeology, Demons, Gen, Sumerian gods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18510643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Indy is on a dig at the Dead Sea, excavating the site of Gomorrah, the Biblical city destroyed by God.  He uncovers a small unguent jar that seems to be empty, but on the voyage back home, he finds that it holds more than he expected.





	Succubus

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: This story is Rated R and contains sexual situations. The Indiana Jones characters are property of Paramount Studios, Walt Disney Corporation, and Lucasfilm, Ltd. The rest of the story is copyright (c) 1998 Cheree Cargill. No infringement is intended on any legally existing copyright. Originally printed in the fanzine "Choice Parts #2", edited by Cheree Cargill, 1999.

Like the touch of a teasing lover, sweat slid between Indy's shoulder blades and through the hair on his chest, causing him to squirm uncomfortably in response to its inexorable tickle. He paused to scratch vigorously at the front of his shirt, relieving that itch, at least, but then forced himself to ignore the other myriad little sensations prickling his skin. Damn, but this salt was driving him crazy! Standing, he popped the kinks out of his back and surveyed the scene around him.

The dig swarmed with workers, some shoveling the parched soil into buckets, some shaking it through screens, still others down in the test trench delicately picking at the exposed strata. Over it all glared a merciless white sun, its blinding reflection bouncing off the evaporation pans and salt pillars. Off to the north rolled the dull blue expanse of the Dead Sea, frothed with salt spray, offering no relief to the seared land and wisp-dry men around it. And, beyond its dazzle-flecked surface, if he squinted hard against the glare, Indy could just make out the bleak ramparts of Masada, a forbidding, sheared-off mountain rearing against the burnished sky, where Jewish zealots had once made a final stand against a Roman army.

Indy wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, itself wet with perspiration, and bent back to his task of directing the diggers in his charge. The site had been profitable, producing a number of artifacts ― broken clay tablets covered with cuneiform, a couple of fragmented fertility goddesses, their hands folded over enormous pendulous breasts, and bits of stuff that might eventually be pieced together into pottery. These had been laboriously picked out of a thin layer of vitrified soil, now covered by centuries of sand and salt.

It was that layer that had the archaeological team excited. Only an unimaginable heat source could have turned the sand to glass ― and the test trenches they had dug showed that it extended for nearly a mile. They had no idea what could have caused it, but all the signs indicated that they had found what they were seeking ― the Biblical city of Gomorrah.

"Doctor Jones! Look at this!" one of the diggers cried, startling Indy out of his reverie.

"What is it? Let me see." Jones jumped down into the trench beside the man and peered at the object exposed. A tiny section of smooth white stone had appeared in the layer of compacted sand, unmistakable marks etched into its surface.

Indy's face lit up. "Beautiful! Oh, this is going to be a treasure!" He took up the paintbrush the worker was using and gently but swiftly teased the sand away from the white object. His progress was punctuated by ever more gleeful expressions as the artifact was revealed. "Look at that! My God, it's intact! Beautiful! Just beautiful!"

By the time he had it free, quite a crowd had gathered around the trench, all eager to see the artifact that was causing Dr. Jones' state of elation. At last he held it in his hand and turned it for all to see, a beautifully carved white alabaster vase about the size of a tea cup, embellished with the incised relief of a bare-breasted Sumerian goddess. Probably an unguent jar, Indy decided.

The lid had been sealed with wax, but the centuries had deteriorated the seal and the top came loose easily as he jiggled it experimentally. It wasn't proper procedure, he knew, but an unanticipated need to have it open drove through him. Still down in the trench, Indy twisted the top loose and lifted the lid to peer inside.

The diggers began to scream.

* * *

Indy shifted uneasily in his sleep and murmured fitfully, but could not break free of the dream. Someone was in his tent, someone whose presence he had felt before. The Palestinian girl? Yes, the lovely, doe-eyed Zenya, black-haired, brown-skinned, with a soul of fire... It must be her...

Soft fingers trailed down the side of his neck. Indiana stirred and opened his eyes sleepily, tingling with incipient desire. His partner smiled and let her fingertips move down the planes of his chest, her nails lightly scratching over his skin, sending a jolt excitement through him.

She observed his reaction with satisfaction then slowly drew the sheets away, exposing his nakedness, and bent over him, her long, prehensile tongue doing things no human should be able to do. He didn't care, awash in the most intense sea of sexual desire he'd ever experienced. He wanted to touch her, to bury himself between her beckoning thighs, to lick, taste, possess her in the full fury of his passion. But his arms were leaden; he could only lie passively beneath her lips and hands.

She would not let him finish, expertly backing off each time she felt him nearing orgasm, and each time she returned to her probing ministrations, bringing him further than he thought possible. If she didn't let him climax soon, it was going to go beyond the realm of arousal and into genuine pain.

When he thought he could stand it no longer, she effortlessly swung astride him, maneuvering for full penetration. He clamped his teeth together to keep from screaming, though whether from pain or relief he could not say. His body still refused his efforts to move, except for the urgent straining toward fruition.

The woman bent forward and placed her lips in the hollow of his chest, running the tip of her tongue through the hair. The saltiness of his sweat seemed to please her and she sucked harder, breaking capillaries beneath his skin.

Her tongue ran full up the plane of his chest, swirled along the base of his throat, teased at his jawline. The sensations created finally proved the critical factor and he exploded within her with a guttural cry. It seemed his very soul was being pumped into her and, at the last moment, he heard her keening gasp. She seemed to orgasm herself, drawing strength and energy from his body, and he realized with a surge of horror that she was feeding on him.

He cried out in earnest and she raised her face, hissing at him. The slit-pupiled eyes were hard and yellow, the thin lips pulled back in a grimace, the tip of her split tongue curling behind needle-like fangs.

His terrified scream ripped the air as she lowered her head to his pulsing throat.

* * *

Indiana awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding wildly, lungs straining to draw in air. The world would not stand still, the room around him rolling from side to side in a relentless motion that increased his nausea.

Then he realized where he was ― his cabin on the tramp steamer bearing him homeward. He gulped, took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. The dream ― this was the third night in a row...

He lay for a few minutes in the sweat-soaked sheets, aching all over from the adrenalin that had exploded through his system, and finally succeeded in getting his pulse back to an acceptable level.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Indy reached for the bedside lamp, then sat for another moment, clearing his mind. His watch read 3:32. Shakily, he ran a hand over his face. He hadn't slept well all week, the recurring dream each night shattering his exhausted slumber.

He pulled out the flask of whiskey from the bottom drawer of the bedside chest and took a healthy belt, letting it burn its way down his throat, then replaced the cap and turned to the bed. The sheets were sticky with something other than sweat and he grimaced in disgust. He hadn't had wet dreams since he was twelve ... until this week. Something must be triggering it all, he thought as he stripped the soiled sheets from the bed and laid down fresh linen. He'd never been plagued with an overactive imagination, but since leaving the Dead Sea dig, his night-thoughts had grown more and more vivid.

They had been there for six weeks, working as a joint collaboration of archaeologists from the British Museum and the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. This was Indy's first dig since receiving his doctorate.

The expedition was led by Dr. Josiah Ingram, a fellow of the British Museum, who had found what he believed to be the sites of Sodom and Gomorrah, the evil cities destroyed by God. Sodom was now covered by the waters of the Dead Sea, but Gomorrah lay at its southeastern end, in an incredibly blighted area of evaporation pans and salt pillars.

The dig had produced clay tablets showing the usual record-keeping common throughout that period of Middle Eastern history, but there were other things that made even a cynical and shock-proof man like Jones feel sick. He was a sophisticated man and had seen his share of pornography, but this was something far beyond that, practices so revolting that he knew the artifacts would be locked into storage once they reached London, only rarely brought out to study. Jones had heard that there were rooms at Pompeii so disgusting that women were not even allowed on-site. Surely, what they had found at Gomorrah made Pompeii look like a Sunday school picnic.

Once aboard ship and steaming away from the Palestinian port of Haifa, Indy had begun his study of the relics his party had accumulated with little vase. The jar had been something of a disappointment when Indy had carefully examined it, for it proved to be empty. He had hoped to find traces of the fragrant balm that it had once held. But the jar was absolutely pristine inside. Why would someone go to the trouble to seal an empty jar with wax, he wondered. Still, it was quite a find, still undeniably beautiful in a slightly sinister way. The carvings made Indy just a bit uneasy, although he couldn't identify why. He'd dismissed it as fatigue from the field work and continued with his studies of the vase.

The dreams had begun that night.

Now he lay back on the bed and tried to stay awake, but his fatigue and the gentle rocking of the ship overcame the ingrained fear of sleep that had come to possess him. At length, he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

A knocking sound finally penetrated the blackness and Indy dragged himself up from sleep. For a moment, he was disoriented then the sound came again, along with Josiah Ingram's voice calling, "Indiana? Are you alive in there?"

Indy looked at his watch ― 8:15. He groggily got to his feet and stumbled to the door, pulling on his old robe, then turned the lock and opened the door. Ingram stood in the hallway, looking curious, then stepped into the cabin, his pipe cradled comfortably in his hand.

"I say, old man, you look like hell! Whatever is the matter?"

Indy waved one hand in vague dismissal and shut the door, going back to sit on the edge of the bed. "It's nothing," he said, rubbing one hand tiredly through his disarrayed hair. "Just not sleeping well. I'm okay."

"Well, perhaps you should see the pharmacist's mate. He surely has some sort of pill in his supply that will let you get some proper shut-eye." Ingram puffed tranquilly on his pipe, though his eyes showed concern.

"No ... I'm all right. Just the change from the field to the ship. Maybe I've got a touch of malaria or something." Indy was feeling better now. "Anyway, give me a minute to get dressed and we'll get some breakfast ... if there's any left. I didn't mean to oversleep."

"Oh, had mine an hour ago. Usual fare. Back to work and all that. Just was a bit worried when you didn't show."

"Thanks, but I'm all right. I'll get some coffee and I'll be fine."

"Right. Well, see you in the wardroom then." Ingram exited, giving Indy a worried once-over.

The American archaeologist slumped tiredly and ran a weary hand over his stubbled face. Truth be known, he wasn't fine. He felt awful and the fruity aroma of Ingram's tobacco was making him sick. He went to the lavatory and ran water into the sink, splashing it liberally onto his face and head, letting it run down his back and drip from his hair.

Finally, he looked up into the mirror at the red-eyed, gaunt reflection staring back at him. There was pallor beneath the sun-browned skin and a fatigue that had nothing to do with the weeks of grueling work in the field. Mechanically, he turned on the faucet to run hot, shucked his robe, and reached for his shaving cup and brush.

He was caught by a livid bruise in the hollow of his chest, about the size of a silver dollar and roughly circular. Experimentally, he poked at it but found no particular answering sensation; it certainly didn't hurt like a bruise should have. For an instant, the vision of a dark-haired head lowering over his body flashed through his mind, then he shook it angrily off. _You're losing it, Jones_ , he snorted to himself and turned back to the business at hand.

He lathered his face and picked up his ivory-handled straight razor. The shave and a quick wash did indeed lift his spirits and he left his cabin feeling much better, attired in cool, soft khakis. He made his way up to the main deck and stood for a while at the railing, watching the sea slide past and the gulls reel overhead. That smudge there on the horizon was Crete, a place Indy had never visited but planned to someday. The ruins of the fabulous Minoan palace at Knossos intrigued him and the place was definitely on his future itinerary.

The crisp tang of the sea air made him feel alive and the wind ruffled through his sun-bleached hair like a playful lover. That thought caused a little stab of headache, but he determinedly ignored it and went below to the wardroom, one end of which he and Ingram had appropriated as their work space. Josiah was seated there now, thoughtfully pouring over a small group of cuneiform tablets spread out before him.

He looked up as Indy entered, grunting in approval at his colleague's improved appearance. Jones poured himself a cup of black coffee and sat down in the chair opposite Ingram.

"Any progress?"

"A bit," Ingram answered, tapping the mouthpiece of his pipe against one of the little clay tablets. "The site we excavated seems to have been an outlying village of Gomorrah. If I read this right, it was called Baal-kadesh. This seems to be a tax record made by the local headman and priest. Usual stuff ― number of goats and lambs brought in for sacrifice to Baal, amount of gold in the coffers, and so on. Every now and then there seems to be a prayer or ritual incantation thrown in."

Indy nodded then looked up as the Negro cook entered the wardroom. "Get you somethin', Dr. Jones?" he asked.

"Morning, Walter," Indy answered. "Is there any toast left?"

"Naw, suh," the big man replied. "But I can make you some."

Jones smiled in genuine warmth. "That'd be great. Thanks very much."

"My pleasure, suh. Comin' up."

Jones sighed wearily as the cook left and again Ingram pinned him with a curious eye. "Now, see here, Indy, there is something wrong and I'm determined to have it out of you!"

Indy studied the cup of coffee before him. "All right. It's really pretty silly. I've been having a recurring nightmare for the past three nights."

"I see." Ingram sat back and puffed on his pipe. "Must be a pretty bad one."

Jones looked up and his mouth pulled into an embarrassed, lop-sided grin. "Actually, it's probably the most erotic dream I've ever had. This incredibly beautiful woman appears every night and ... well ... I guess you could say she ... um ... ravishes me!" Ingram's eyebrows went up at that and he gave a short, surprised laugh. "But, then, she turns into a ... I don't know ... a demon or something and rips my throat open. No doubt there's some Freudian significance to it all."

"I say," Josiah replied. "Well." He sent up another puff or two of fragrant smoke, pondering this. "And you've had this every night, eh? Hmmm." At length, he took his pipe from his mouth and gestured at Indy with the mouthpiece. "I'd say what you've got there is a succubus."

"A succubus!"

"Yes ― a female demon that has sexual intercourse with men while they sleep."

"Oh, come on, Josiah! You know I don't believe in that sort of nonsense!"

"I'm not implying for a moment that it's real," Ingram admonished him. "I'm just saying that these weeks spent in and among those incredibly vile ruins at Gomorrah have gotten the better of your subconscious. Pay it no mind; it'll go away in a few days. You're just fatigued and, as you said, it may just be a touch of malaria or sunstroke or some such."

Indy nodded. "Yes, you're right. No doubt courtesy of this little lovely here." He stroked a finger down the little unguent jar sitting to one side. For a split second, his head spun as the goddess incised into the stone seemed to look directly at him and a scene exploded through Indy's mind as if a flashbulb had gone off in front of his face. As quick as that, then gone. He closed his eyes and shook himself. "Brrr ― I think I will see the pharmacist's mate. Maybe I have got a touch of fever."

"Good show," Ingram approved. At that moment, the cook entered with a plate piled high with steaming toast, buttered lightly and with strawberry jam to one side. The aroma was wonderful and Indy's stomach growled in response. Ingram noted it all and said, "Pack that lot in first, Indy. You'll feel better once you've got some food inside you."

Indy didn't argue and dug into the breakfast. He had hardly begun, however, when Walter reappeared carrying a platter of bacon strips and scrambled eggs. He grinned as Jones gaped in amazement. "I figured once you started, you'd be hungrier than you thought, Dr. Jones."

Indy laughed. "Walter, you're a shrewd man."

"Aw, ain't nuthin', Dr. Jones. I jus' been feedin' hungry men for a while, that's all." Chuckling, Walter retired to the galley.

Jones shook his head and ate, while Ingram expounded on the text he'd been able to translate from the cuneiform tablets. The breakfast dishes were cleared away presently by one of the mess boys and the two archaeologists moved deeper into their daily work with the artifacts, sometimes separately, sometimes consulting with each other over some puzzling aspect of a particular piece. They were joined throughout the morning by graduate students and the other two archaeologists on the expedition, all working on various projects.

They broke for a late lunch then took a rest period up on deck. The bright sunshine of the morning had given way to scattered cumulus clouds and a brisk breeze from the north. The sea was choppy but the ship plowed through the waves with little trouble, sending spray over the bow.

"Ahhh..." sighed Ingram, leaning on the rail. "I love the sea. Nothing like it. I expect I would have gone Royal Navy except for this bum knee of mine."

"War wound?"

Ingram laughed. "Of a sort. Chap caught me with a cricket bat when I was sixteen. Nearly took my kneecap off. Still gives me trouble now and again."

Indy nodded and leaned back in the canvas folding chair he had brought up on deck. Letting his gaze wander out across the endless waves, he found himself remembering the scene that had flashed through his mind earlier that day. It had had an odd dream-like quality, as if he were viewing the scene from outside, yet was part of it. And it had felt utterly real. It was a scene of the distant past come alive, of a bustling city of mudbrick and sandstone, a desert city, teeming with people ― merchants, traders, prostitutes, priests, dancers, slaves ― all going about their daily business in the streets. Donkeys and camels, goats and sheep, wagons and chariots added to the tumult. But he viewed it from above the dusty, joyous chaos, for he was a god and at his side was a luminous, silver-haired woman, not the silver of age but that of spun moonlight. She was eternally young, eternally beautiful, eternally jealous. And she was his mate.

Indy blinked and came back to the present. "Josiah ... you said that you had found some incantations in those tablets of yours. What sort?"

"Oh, rather the usual thing. Good luck spells, love charms, summoning demons, banishing demons, invoking the gods..." Ingram paused in puffing his pipe, looked sideways at Indy and chuckled. "Still troubled by those dreams, eh? Well, I'll have a closer look. Maybe I can find a spell to send your demon packing."

Jones laughed, too. "Maybe so. I'm going below. This wind is getting cold and, if this is a touch of fever, I don't want to aggravate it. Besides, I need to get back to the grindstone."

"Right you are. Off with you, then."

* * *

Indy had been at work for over an hour, pouring over the alabaster unguent jar when a trick of the light caused him to stop and stare hard at the jar's lid. Just underneath the rim were faint scratches, barely visible on the white stone. Jones retrieved his magnifying glass and scrutinized the lid more closely.

"Hello," he said to Josiah. "Here's something new." The older man looked up, interested, as Indy painstakingly copied the markings down and pushed the paper across to him. "What do you make of that?"

Josiah studied the letters for a moment. "Sumerian. Ancient script, before cuneiform became standard." He mentally translated them, then shook his head. "Doesn't make much sense. 'Aznu.' What the devil does that mean?"

The American shrugged. "A name, maybe?"

"Hmmm. Possibly. Is there anything else?"

"No, that's all. Aznu... Aznu..." Abruptly, Indy broke off and both he and Ingram felt gooseflesh trill over them as a cold draft swirled through the room and the paper on the table ruffled slightly. Then all was still again.

"What the hell was that?" Josiah demanded.

Indy's throat constricted then he laughed nervously. "My God, Josiah, we're jumpier than two cats in heat! It was just the wind." He laughed again. After a couple of seconds, Ingram joined in, not sounding any more convinced than Indy.

"Of course, you're right―"

He was cut short by a high-pitched scream from the galley. Both men vaulted to their feet, Indy's chair crashing over backwards, as they leapt toward the adjoining door. Walter was backed against the stove, brandishing an imposing butcher knife in an upraised hand, his eyes huge and white as he stared at the wall opposite him.

Indy and Josiah instinctively looked that way, but saw nothing unusual then turned back to the cook as several sailors crowded in behind them, alerted by the scream.

"Walter, what is it? What happened?" Indy asked, approaching the man slowly.

The large black man moved his gaze to fall on Jones, then flicked back immediately to the wall. "Where'd she go?" he asked hoarsely.

"Who?"

"Her! That woman! I turned around and she was there, then she was just gone!"

"Take it easy now, Walt," said one of the crewmembers, joining Indy in moving slowly toward the cook.

"Yeah, put the knife down, Walt," a second sailor put in. "Calm down, old man." Slowly, the panic-stricken look faded from Walter's face and he lowered the knife.

Sweat slicked his dark skin and his eyes still examined the opposite wall in suspicion, but the immediate terror was gone.

"She was there," he asserted defiantly.

The first sailor laid a companionable hand on the black man's shoulder. "I don't know what you saw, Walt," he responded, "but you know yourself there ain't no women on board this ship. Now, how could you possibly have seen one?"

Walter turned hurt brown eyes on the man. "Bill, I wouldn't never call you a liar," he said.

Bill shook his head. "I ain't callin' you a liar, man. But we all think we see things now and again that ain't there. Why don't you come take a break? Jack here can take over for a while." He motioned to one of the assistant cooks who was standing nearby, eyes wide, and led the big cook from the galley.

Indy and Josiah watched them leave then Jones turned to the assistant. "Did you see anything, Jack?" he asked.

"Naw, suh," the young black man replied. "I be peelin' spuds in yonder when I heard the commotion. I come in 'bout the same time you did, suh."

"Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"Not's I know of, suh," Jack answered, keeping an eye on the spot where the apparition had supposedly appeared. "This allus been a good ship. Never been no trouble here."

"Likely a touch of your fever, Indy," Josiah interjected in dismissal. "Shall we get back to work?"

"Yesss," Indy answered thoughtfully, but surveyed the room before turning away. The excitement now over, the other men went back to their work.

* * *

The wind picked up at sundown and the steamer ploughed its way doggedly through surging waves. Indy tossed in his bunk, as much from restlessness as from the pitch of the ship. At last, he gave up the fight for sleep and turned on the bedside lamp. Punching his pillow up behind him, he settled back to let his mind run through the myriad paths it was probing.

Among the shards of tablets and pottery, they had found references to the Sumerian goddess of fertility, Inanna, who was called Ishtar by the Semites. She was widely worshipped throughout the Fertile Crescent, along with her lover Tammuz, and the gods of nature, Anu, Enlil and Enki. The little unguent jar was definitely Sumerian, although a long way from its point of origin near the mouth of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. Still, not so strange. Abraham had come out of Ur of the Chaldees, one of the most important cities in Sumer, and he and his family had definitely passed through the Dead Sea valley in their journey to Canaan.

Indy thought back to his Sunday school days, trying to recall the passage, and found that it came clearly to mind: "Now the Lord had said unto Abram, Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and from thy father's house, unto a land that I will show thee."

Abraham's nephew, Lot, had gone to live in Sodom, barely escaping before the Lord rained down fire and brimstone on the wicked cities in the valley. It was not hard to believe that this little jar might have made the journey from Sumer in their party.

Maybe there was something in Josiah's notes that would help. He rose from the bunk and got dressed, then went up to the wardroom and turned on the desk lamp on the worktable. It was late and the ship was quiet except for the underlying throb of the engines and indefinable sounds that indicated a living ship with men at work in her bowels.

Indy paused and mused at the gruesome thought. He gave a little laugh at his macabre turn of mind and sat down to begin his work.

For two hours, he plowed through Ingram's copious and detailed notes before he found the passage he was looking for, the text of the various writings on the pottery shards. Most of it was very mundane record-keeping, as Josiah had said ― bushels of barley in storage, new wine in these certain vessels, number of kids and lambs brought for sacrifice and tithe. Pages of it, in fact. Very dull pages of it.

Indy caught himself blanking out as he read down through the notes. He blinked and looked at his watch, was startled to see that it was nearly 1:30. No wonder his mind was refusing to work; he'd finish up this section and then call it a night.

With determination, he plunged back into Ingram's neat, spidery script, not really reading the text, but just scanning it. Abruptly, his eyes locked on a passage and he came fully awake as he read the translation of the tablets. The author of the ancient document had recorded an unusual departure from the everyday ritual of the priests. A handmaiden of the goddess Inanna had angered her mistress by seducing Inanna's lover, Tammuz. Inanna had reduced the unfortunate girl to the essence of her dark soul and had ordered her imprisoned for all time in a sealed vessel bearing the effigy of Inanna to forever remind the girl of her transgressions.

Indy stared at the alabaster vase sitting on the table and felt goose-flesh rise on his arms as he recognized the embodiment of something pagan and evil. Then angrily he threw the papers on the table and shoved the chair back. No wonder he was having nightmares. He'd let himself get so involved in this whole nonsense that his subconscious was having a field day. Well, no more. Enough was enough. He'd been on digs and field assignments in parts of the world that were living nightmares and he had never looked back at them. He wasn't about to let some deeply-buried, post-Victorian, Sunday school-generated bit of malarkey get the better of him.

He decided that he'd had enough. Time for bed and a good night's sleep and an end to this foolishness. To reinforce his resolve, he picked up the alabaster unguent jar and hefted it decisively. To show his subconscious that he meant business, this little nasty could just spend the night in his cabin with him and he'd see which one was the victor in the morning!

Thoroughly heartened by his internal pep-talk, Indy started back to his cabin. The ship no longer seemed menacing, just an old freighter lumbering along on a moon-lit night in the Mediterranean. He paused on deck for a moment to take several lungfuls of the refreshing sea air, but the wind had a definite bite to it and the sea was really too rough and the moon was mostly hidden behind scudding clouds. Shivering slightly, he went inside.

* * *

Indy's cabin was the second one along a corridor that traversed the boat deck and Josiah was housed directly across from him. As Indy was about to enter his cabin, he was caught by the sound of labored breathing coming from the slatted wooden door behind him, and something else, a strange wet sound he couldn't quite identify.

He paused, listening intently to the sound, then, his belly tightening in premonition, he turned silently and stepped across the hall.

Quietly, Indy took hold of the doorknob and slowly turned it. He met no resistance; the door was unlocked. Noiselessly, he pushed the door open and froze at the sight confronting him.

Ingram was lying immobile on his bunk, naked, while a long-legged woman sat astride him, clothed only in her long black hair. At the moment, she was bent forward, her mouth clamped to the base of his throat, sucking hungrily. The man struggled feebly, as if trying to free himself from a horrible paralysis, his face contorted, his eyes closed as he fought to wake from the dream.

But it was no dream. The woman drew her lips away from the wound and ran her tongue over it, sealing the skin and stopping the blood flow. She was licking the blood from her lips when Indy's presence in the doorway suddenly became apparent.

With a hiss like an angry cat, she spun to face him, lips drawing back from needle-sharp teeth. Then she was rising off Ingram, rising straight up into the air, the lower half of her body becoming vaporous, dissolving into a mist like a foul fog.

Indy stood in shock as she moved toward him, held like a mouse in a serpent's gaze, then abruptly, reflexively, he broke into action.

Thrusting the unguent jar and lid before him, held at arm's length, he blurted out the Sumerian spell he had found. His voice shook and his accent was uncertain, but the ancient words still held their power. The demoness stopped as if hitting a wall, flinching back away from the spell. Jones repeated it with more force.

The creature's body writhed and a high-pitched, inhuman scream tore from her throat, nearly causing Indy to drop the jar from suddenly nerveless fingers. But he grimly hung on, repeating the spell for a third time, making it a command.

With a wild swirl of motion, the creature disincorporated and the stinking fog swirled into a tight spiral, then was sucked into the little jar with a furious hiss and gurgle. Quickly, Indy clapped the lid into place, twisting to assure a tight seal. For now the angry buzz he felt through his fingers seemed safely confined. He carefully set the jar on the washstand and hurried to Ingram's side.

The ship's captain and crew and the rest of the archaeological team were crowding into the corridor now, hauled from their beds by the unearthly sounds issuing from the archaeologist's cabin. They stood in the doorway, disheveled, staring as Indy bent over his colleague.

Jones shook the Englishman roughly. "Josiah! Josiah, wake up!"

Ingram was groggy, fighting the effect of the paralysis and the blood loss he had sustained. But realization seemed to come on him suddenly and he vaulted awake, wild-eyed, his gaze flashing around the room in panic, then came to rest on Indy's face, questioning.

"It's all right now, Josiah. It's gone."

"What― You saw it? It was real?"

"There was ... something ... here, but it's gone now," Indy answered.

"I feel sick," Ingram confessed, somewhat disconcertedly. He made a motion toward getting up but could not manage it. "Please, get me something to cover myself."

One of the younger archaeologists retrieved Ingram's burgundy-colored robe and pajama bottoms from the floor and handed them over. Indy helped his colleague dress, then sit up on the side of the bed. "Would you like a drink?" he asked.

Josiah mulled it over, his mind still fuzzy, then indicated that he would. With brandy warming his stomach, the older man felt better and more his old self. "Thank you ... all of you. I'm fine now. You can go back to your beds. I shan't disturb you again." He smiled sheepishly.

The group of men dissipated, muttering among themselves about the strange happenings of late. They'd all be glad when this cursed voyage was done.

Indy stayed on. Josiah was still pale, but appeared to be recovering, now deep in thought. At last he looked up at Jones with a light of understanding, "By damn, Indy! It was that succubus of yours, wasn't it?"

The American nodded, reluctant to admit what he had seen. "It's real, Josiah. It's connected with that unguent jar there." He nodded toward the nightstand where the little artifact sat gleaming with a faint milky light. "I've got it imprisoned for the time being, but we've got a bigger problem ― what do we do with it now?"

"Indeed." Both men sat perplexed for a moment, then Josiah spoke up. "I don't know about you, Indy, but I'd feel better if we could find some way of assuring that it wouldn't get out again."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Indy agreed. He went to the nightstand and rummaged around in the drawer for a moment, emerging with an emergency candle in hand. "Let me have a match," he said to Josiah.

Ingram retrieved one from his smoking pouch and the two men set about sealing the lid of the jar tightly with wax. Indy wondered if he imagined the frantic vibrations coming through the cool stone.

Finally satisfied, he blew out the candle flame and let the wax set until it was cold and hard, thickly layered about the alabaster lid.

"Now what?" Ingram asked.

Jones was perplexed. "I don't know. We don't dare risk letting it get loose again. Look, you go back to bed and try to get some rest. I'll take this thing with me and we'll figure out what to do about it tomorrow when we're both thinking clearer."

Ingram hung his head wearily. "Right ... you're right, Indy. Good night, then."

"G'night, Josiah."

Jones stepped out into the corridor, alabaster jar in hand, and closed the door. As he started across the hall to his own cabin, he paused and looked down at the little artifact, the grim reality of what he held penetrating his tired mind. Aznu was trapped for now but sometime, sooner or later, someone would pry the wax seal off the jar and release the demon within. She had waited six thousand years to be released; a little more time wouldn't matter to her. He might hide the jar, bury it among dusty files and trays of specimens, but one day some unsuspecting person would inevitably find it. He had to prevent that at all costs.

Abruptly, he turned and went out onto the rolling deck of the ship. The moon had long since set or had been hidden by heavy clouds and the only light came from the doorway to the corridor behind him.

For a moment, Indy stood gazing at the sinister beauty of the unguent jar, at the wondrous workmanship and history that were embedded in the polished alabaster. Who was the goddess incised in the white stone? Inanna? It seemed likely. What hands had caressed this vessel? What love and hate and perversions had it seen? What secrets did it yet hold uncovered?

He stood frozen on the deck, staring at the little vase, the wind whipping his hair and clothes about. Thunder rumbled overhead and a spatter of rain foretold the coming squall. He could not make his arm move and, for a second, he felt himself again in the grip of Aznu's power.

Then, with a terrible effort, the archaeologist in him crying out at such desecration, he drew back with a deep-throated moan to throw the little jar as far as he could out over the dark sea.

The shriek was accompanied by Josiah Ingram landing bodily on his arm, nearly wrenching it from its socket. Indy lost his footing and the two men went down in a tangled heap on the wet deck, Ingram frantically attempting to wrest the unguent jar from the American's grasp.

"NO! You can't do it! It's priceless!!" Ingram shouted as he got the artifact away from Jones and scrambled up and away, clutching it to his breast.

Indy climbed to his feet. Thunder crackled nearby. "Josiah, it's the only way," he said. "We've got to destroy it."

Ingram held the vase even tighter and shook his head, the burgundy robe thrashing wildly around him. "No! You mustn't! It doesn't mean any harm!"

Jones hesitated. He had been referring to the unguent jar, but Ingram was obviously not. "It means to drain you dry, Josiah! It's evil! Give me the jar!"

"NO!" The older man backed further away, his eyes wide with a frenzied light.

Indy launched himself at the archaeologist and the two again fell, struggling frantically for possession of the unguent jar. Thunder reverberated again loudly overhead and the wind-whipped torrent of rain opened up in earnest.

Jones wrenched the vase out of Ingram's grasp, but in the process he slipped on the wet deck plates, landing heavily on his back. Ingram was on him immediately, fighting to retrieve the alabaster jar, heedless of the pouring rain and tossing sea. Chunks of the wax seal began to flake off as the combatants warred over possession of the jar.

Indy managed to keep his grip on the slippery artifact and scrambled further away, but Ingram followed relentlessly and pressed his attack. An insane brilliance had pervaded the Englishman's eyes and Indy suddenly realized that Josiah had every intention of forcing him over the side. White-frothed waves crashed over the railing, as if the sea itself were eager to pull him into its black depths.

With a cry of denial, Indy fought harder, now as much for his life as for possession of the unguent jar. Ingram was astride him and had double handfuls of Indy's shirt, pounding the American again and again into the deck with an irrational strength. Then, in a snake-quick movement, he had his hands around Indy's throat and his grip tightened into a vise-like chokehold.

Indy gasped for air ― and got none. Instinctively, survival panic jolting through him, he grabbed Ingram's wrists and attempted to pry the maddened man loose.

It was exactly the move Ingram had wanted for it meant that Indy had to drop the unguent jar to do so, and in an instant the older man had snatched it up and jerked away from Jones. But the slick alabaster jar flew from his grasp, hit the bulkhead wall and shattered against the steel plating of the deck.

A blood-curdling screech pierced the roar of the storm and the apparition spiraling up from the shards of the broken vase left no doubt that Aznu was free and triumphant. Indy, still lying on the deck and struggling to breathe, tried to utter the incantation against her, but his bruised throat would not function and only a hoarse imitation of speech issued forth.

Aznu turned her gaze on the prone man before her and shrieked in hideous delight, her needle-fangs dripping with poison and retribution. She spun and dove toward him.

Lightning exploded beside the ship in a blinding flash, the concussion of sound waves and heat blowing Indy up against the bulkhead wall, where he lay dazed and deafened, choking on the thick smell of ozone in the air. Josiah was out cold next to him. The icy, pounding rain brought Indy around but his hearing still seemed to be damaged. The only sound that came through to him was a roar of wind, interspersed by a sound for all the world like cats fighting. That and the ship's alarms sounding.

Through the curtain of rain, Indy saw what appeared to be a small cyclone whirling beside the ship. Then, the image separated into that of two women, one dark, with long black hair whipping wildly about her, the other a beautiful snowy creature, her face brilliant with anger, lightning crackling through her flying cloak of silver hair. They formed and dissipated as they spun furiously about in battle, a war of goddesses that escalated and pulled the elements of the storm into the fray as weapons.

Indy became aware that the ship was moving rapidly away to port, away from the forming tornado of rain and wind and fury. The waterspout lengthened and rose toward the roiling clouds above, turning strangely milky in the dark night, lit from within by coruscating streaks of lightning crawling over its surface.

In a final screech of victory, the storm turned completely white and whirled apart, the remnants of its wrath whipped away by the wind and rain of the squall.

A strange peace settled over the ship and the rainstorm became no more than that, now beginning to pass. Thunder still grumbled overhead but the rain slackened off and Indy found that he could breathe again. A soft sobbing penetrated his hearing and he looked over to find Josiah huddled against the bulkhead wall, clutching pieces of the broken unguent jar, tears rolling down his face.

"Inanna," Josiah whispered.

Indy understood. They were tears of relief for the danger passed, and sadness for the broken treasure in his hands, and awe at the incredible apocalypse they had witnessed. He leaned wearily back against the wall and let the rain wash over him.

* * *

"What's next for you, old boy?" Ingram asked as the American archaeological team boarded the ocean liner for home. The London dock bustled with the ant-hill activity that accompanied a ship's sailing, stevedores loading freight, hoists creaking, dock bosses bawling out orders, and, near the gangplanks, the chattering groups of passengers and their well-wishers, embracing, parting and calling farewells.

Indy stood in tweed and glasses, looking appropriately scholarly, and surveyed the commotion around them. "I've got an appointment with the dean at a small college in Connecticut. They have an opening in their social sciences department. I'd hoped to keep on at Chicago, but..." He shrugged. "You know ― hard times and the Department's cutting back." Jones thought fleetingly of another dark-haired girl and the major reason he was leaving his hometown. It had been part of the deal with Abner ― go on this trip and don't come back.

"Will you accompany the artifacts to the Field Museum, then?" Josiah's pipe sent fragrant puffs of smoke into the cool morning air.

For an instant, Indy wondered if Josiah had read his thoughts, then answered, "Yes. I'll get them home safely. And you?"

"Oh, paper to write on all this. The usual. As they say, publish or perish, eh?" He chuckled.

Indy looked back at his colleague, a wary expression covering his face. "Will you include it all?" he asked softly.

Ingram coughed self-consciously. "I say not. Make us out both to be fair crackpots, wouldn't it? I'll stick to the bare facts."

Indy felt more at ease. "Right. Me, too. Too bad about the vase, though. I'll always be sorry for that." Josiah grunted agreement.

The ship's steam whistle blasted twice and the crowd on the dock began to move purposefully toward the gangplanks. Indy turned back to the other archaeologist and stuck out his hand. "Well, over all, it's been a pleasure, Josiah. I hope we have the opportunity to work together again."

"Likewise, Indy, likewise," Ingram responded with a warm handshake. "But next time, old man, leave your little fantasies at home, eh?"

THE END

 


End file.
